Poppies grown rosy,
from my comrades souls.
Stained red with their own murderous goals.

Their life force ****** dry, and now it flows,
Into the soil through the meadows.

Crowns of lead bullets adorn many a 'hero's' head.
Many a crying widow and widower longing for the dead.

Young daughters and sons who stand on their fallen's bed.
This is where the everlasting hate is spread.